


The Refuge

by darkspark, MultiFandomMcFrikinMess



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Angry Crutchie because no one does that enough, Angst, Betrayal, Everyone hates Jack, Feels, Implied Sprace just because, M/M, Refuge, Sad, Santa Fe, davey is sad, everyone is sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-26 03:32:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12547880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkspark/pseuds/darkspark, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MultiFandomMcFrikinMess/pseuds/MultiFandomMcFrikinMess
Summary: The Strike was a complete failure. Crutchie has been abandoned in the Refuge, and left to suffer at the hands of Snyder and his men.And Jack? Brave, wise, selfless Jack? Jack, who had said he’d never let Crutchie down?A coward.A liar.A traitor.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Huge credit to: http://archiveofourown.org/users/MultiFandomMcFrikinMess  
> Because he was the one who convinced me to watch Newsies and I harassed him constantly throughout writing this to make sure I had all my facts accurate. He's also pretty incredible artist and he's drawn things that go alongside this so go check those out.  
> He's generally just pretty fantastic and deserves a lot of credit for this so yes.

_I remember that day like it were yesterday. In fact, I remembers a lot of things._  


_Things I’d prefer to forget._

_The sickness. The fever. The pain. The bruises._

_But nothin’ hurt more than the shame. The shame of being shunned by my own folk. My so-called family. They closed the door behind me and never opened it again._

_I was just a kid– lost and afraid – in the cold, grey streets of New York city. No one cared – I was just another hungry teenager with the weight of tragedy on my shoulders, swallowed entirely by the crowds. I had to grow up quick, learn to fight._

_It was a death sentence, no doubt. But Fate is fickle. And as it would happen, someone found me._

_He found me. Jack Kelly._

_He was older. Wiser. And I was young and stupid. That bastard became the centre of my little universe. I always put on a smile for the other Newsies, acted rough, got into fights. I don’t want nobody’s pity. I want to be more than what everybody sees. I want to be more than the kid with the bad leg._

_And Jack saw that in me. Saw me as more than a crip, or a stupid little kid. Damn it, I loved Jack. There was a time I would crawl for miles over broken glass – bad leg be damned – just for a few words of approval from him, maybe a smile if I were real lucky. Like some stray dog beggin’ for scraps, I would follow that boy anywhere, so long as I could be by his side._

_I trusted him, too. Trusted him with my life, although that’s not important. No, I trusted him with my past. I thought Jack of all people would understand what that means, running from your past. Francis Sullivan – hiding from history behind a name, carving out a new life._

_Yep, I gave that boy everything. Everything I could and more._

_So why did he abandon me?_


	2. The Refuge

When he finally awoke, it was dark. So dark, it seemed as if the sky had shrouded itself in ebony cloth, mourning a dying cause. Perhaps someone had smothered the sun. The darkness almost resembled smoke – entirely intangible, but suffocating. He was drowning in its depths. 

And if there was smoke, then there was certainly fire. He was numb to everything except the flames that sought to devour him. It was as if his very bones had been crafted from a raging inferno – especially that damn leg of his – but a twisted part of his unconscious mind willed it on, to render him nothing but ash and dust. After all, the labyrinthine streets of New York were cruel to those with nowhere else to turn. Despite years of struggling for survival, perhaps death was ultimately a refuge. 

_The_ refuge. 

Suddenly, the pain made sense. Realisation crashed upon him, a crushing weight almost too heavy to bear. 

The strike. The protest. His brothers, lined side by side in defiance, looking the Devil in the eye with a smile. His brothers, falling one by one, disbanded, running to save themselves. In comparison to Pulitzer, they were like an army of ants, tiny and ultimately insignificant, scattering and recoiling to their nest at the merest hint of danger lest they be crushed underfoot. 

The brutal images flashed endlessly before his eyes, like those new-fangled moving pictures that Albert was talking about only days ago. Maybe it was all just a bad dream…if he could just open his eyes…

Forcing his tired eyes open was an unexpectedly difficult task. He felt as though the skin on his face had been stretched tightly over his bones, tearing at the seams like threadbare fabric. A cold, concrete ceiling swam above him, looping and distorting. Where was he? 

He reached a tentative hand to his face, suddenly apprehensive of what he might find. His fingers returned slick with blood.

“The new guy’s awake.” 

The deafening silence was shattered by a harsh voice. He attempted to sit up, battling the nausea that brewing stormily in his stomach as the room danced around him. It was a monochrome blur, as though somebody had painted the world in greyscale.

“Hey, don’t move too much.”

A hand rested on his shoulder – a misguided attempt at comfort. It sent pain jolting like electricity through every nerve in his broken body. He bit back a cry, not wanting to appear vulnerable.

“What’s your name, kid?”

He attempted to refocus his eyes, to find a face bearing down at him. The face of a boy, barely into his teen years, sepia with half-healed bruises. 

“C…Crutchie.”

“Crutchie.” The boy said, with a gaptoothed grin. “Welcome to Hell.”


	3. The Breaking

In a world of uncertainty, Crutchie knew only two things to be absolutely, undeniably true. 

One, the Refuge was living Hell. Suffering was a familiar friend to Crutchie - his pain tasted of nostalgia - but it wasn’t pleasant having to live through it all again. Despite everything in his past, he had always managed to cling to some fragment of hope, especially for the sake of the other guys, but it seemed the Refuge was barren of all hope.

Yet, hope formed the second absolute, indisputable certainty. He knew someone was coming to save him. They had to be. The newsboys were a family, after all, and Crutchie was an integral part of the framework. Surely, they would never abandon him? 

Not again.

But the hours elongated into days, and days stretched slowly into weeks. Crutchie was barely conscious of the passage of time, he knew only that it had been long, too long. Something should have happened. Someone should have helped him.

Jack should have helped him. 

Gradually, Crutchie found he no longer cared for time drifting past him. Time, he learnt, brought only pain. Each sunrise brought a new selection of horrors, another day to suffer through. Even sleep was no respite; the night forced him to relive everything. His leg was worse than ever, screaming with pain even in idleness, and his own thoughts plagued him by day and haunted his dreams by night.

However, his fears were not only for his own sake. The walls of the Refuge did not only lock him in, but shut the outside world out. Even the outcome of the strike, the very thing that had landed him in such a dismal situation, was a mystery to him. It was the first question to pass his lips, but all those he asked refused to meet his eyes, fumbling to find a reason to excuse themselves from the conversation. 

That in itself told him all he needed to know. But then, what had happened to the guys? To Jack? It was a thought too horrific to bear. 

He was told the story eventually. It was Snyder whom the privilege of breaking the truth fell upon, and he relished the opportunity.

Snyder took a sadistic pleasure in watching Crutchie struggle. He loathed the boy with a passion, and not just because of his relation to Jack, although that was a factor. He was vulnerable with his leg, but remained stubborn. Abandoned by his friends, but stayed fiercely loyal. By all rights he should be miserable, but he stayed optimistic. Snyder could simply not tolerate it. Yes, Crutchie was just a big, smiling contradiction, a loose thread in the fabric. 

And Snyder was eager to wipe that maddening smile off his face for good. 

It had been a long day. The boys of the Refuge were often forced to do labour for Snyder, and he had decided that he simply _had_ to clean every inch of the place and rearrange all the furniture. Crutchie was used to hard work, carrying his weight in papers every day, but he’d never known such hunger. Even on the streets, he was better fed than this. Every muscle in his body felt like it was made from the flimsy sheets of paper that the news was printed on. He was weak, and Snyder knew it. 

Snyder had been scouring their ranks as they filed past, their eyes trained on the ground to avoid making themselves a target.

“You.” Snyder had bellowed suddenly, making everybody within radius jump a mile. He pointed an accusatory digit at Crutchie, giving a menacing smile. “Come here.”  
The other boys turned and look expectantly at Crutchie, who was beginning to feel like he’d rather sink through the floor and disappear. 

Instead he moved forward, chin held high in defiance. 

“Move this upstairs.” Snyder said, gesticulating vaguely towards a table in the corner. Crutchie turned, feeling dread creep down his spine in an icy trickle. The table was about his size and twice as heavy. 

“I can’t do that.” Crutchie said with dignity. “Somebody’s gotta help me.”

“You don’t need no help.” Snyder said, his smile only growing wider. It was almost predatory, with the same dead-eyed stare as a shark, preparing for a kill. “In fact, you don’t need no crutch, neither.” 

Crutchie opened his mouth to protest, but in one quick movement, Snyder prised the crutch out of his fingers. For the first time, Crutchie felt a jolt of fear. He knew he would fail, it was a setup. The terrifying grin splitting Snyder’s face in two only served to prove it. 

With trepidation, he shifted his weight slightly onto his bad leg. He bit back a cry as it flooded with sickening pain, as though somebody had jammed a thousand red-hot needles into his very bone. He immediately began to fall, so shifted his weight back onto his good leg.

Clamping his teeth over his tongue, he trialled a new method, hopping forward while dragging his leg behind, trying to ignore the waves of agony that washed over him with every movement. His cheeks burnt with shame at the sound of Snyder and the others jeering and laughing behind him. 

It took what felt like hours, but he eventually reached the table, leaning on it heavily to catch his breath, hiding his face as though it could block out the scene around him.

“Come on, boy.” Snyder spat. “We haven’t got all day.” 

Crutchie took a shuddering breath to steady himself. In a rush, all the pain, degradation, and fear he had felt during his time at the Refuge crashed upon him, igniting him with fury. Like a wounded animal, backed into a corner by predators, the will to survive overpowered him. With new determination, Crutchie grasped the table and lifted with all his strength.

For a brief moment, he was victorious, taking pleasure in watching that smug smile slide quickly off Snyder’s face. Then, he took a staggering step forward, his bad leg dragging behind once again. He instantly lost balance – one leg was not strong enough to bear the weight. Instinctively, he tried to stand on both his legs, and they buckled underneath him. 

With heavy impact, he landed on the ground, the table on top of him. He choked back a noise of suffering at the pain. 

Snyder loomed over him, shaking his head in disapproval. Crutchie quivered beneath him, attempting to scramble backwards away from him, but paralysed under the crushing weight of the table. 

“Pathetic.” Snyder said with a malicious smile. “You think you’re so tough, don’t you, boy? Look at you now.”

With spite, Snyder pressed his foot against Crutchie’s bad leg, gradually transferring his weight onto it, savouring the expression of agony that twisted on Crutchie’s face.

“Just whiny little children. You all thought you were so tough.” Snyder mused. “How the tables have turned.” 

Crutchie whimpered as Snyder rested his hand atop the table, forcing its weight down further onto his broken body. Sheer hatred was all that prevented him from begging for mercy. 

“But it was useless.” Snyder hissed. “They destroyed your adorable little strike with ease.” Then he grinned. “And what’s worse…your little friends left you behind.”  
“No…”  
“Abandoned you…”  
“Please…”  
“Betrayed you.” Snyder grinned. “Even the wonderful Jack Kelly.”  
“He wouldn’t.”  
“Ran away to save himself.” Snyder cackled. “And left you behind.”

In a swift motion, he rolled the table off Crutchie and grabbed him by the shirt collar, pulling him to his feet. A single tear rolled down his cheek.

“Pitiful.” Snyder sneered. He turned to the hired help standing around him. “Teach this boy what happens when he doesn’t obey my orders.” 

Eager to comply, a few men rushed forward, dragging Crutchie along with them. To where, Crutchie didn’t care. Over the next few hours they beat him, beat him until physical pain no longer mattered – until his entire body was crafted from pain and suffering.

And all that he could think was about what Snyder had said. Perhaps, for a fleeting moment, the Newsies had believed they were men, warriors, soldiers. But Snyder was right - it was a children’s game of make believe. They had deemed themselves revolutionaries seeking justice, but they were children, fooled into believing they could have some sort of impact. 

Any impact they had made would have been like sticking a plaster on the fractures of a broken society – ultimately useless. The fire of revolution had been quelled so effortlessly by Pulitzer and the artillery of weapons at his disposal. The cops, the public, the media. Nobody had spared a thought about the Newsies for more than a mere few minutes. Their cause had died as swiftly as the idea had been conceived, a realm of possibilities, a could-have-been but never-will-be, lost on the wind.

And Jack? Brave, wise, selfless Jack? Jack, who had said he’d never let Crutchie down?

A coward. 

A liar.

A traitor.


	4. Sleepless and Starless

Meanwhile, streets away, Jack Kelly was staring with apathy at the sky. The sky stared back impassively, the stars dull in the smothering black. He wondered how he had ever found beauty within its depths, how he had spent hours marvelling at the constellations unfolding above his head. The sky rolled boundlessly for miles, over New York and beyond, ultimately pointless. 

Everything was pointless without Crutchie . There was no need for anything to exist anymore because he was not there to witness it. Even the stars were useless – the same stars had held them in raptures during those long winter nights. Those nights where it was impossible to sleep, so they watched the stars glistening above them. Those nights where they slept in each others’ arms and Jack pretended it was just because he was concerned that Crutchie might catch a chill and get sick, despite his protests.

But Jack was pretending again. Pretending that his actions were for Crutchie’s sake alone. It made the betrayal an easier pill to swallow, although it still left a bitter taste on his tongue.

It was shameful, the way he had begged, crawling into Pulitzer’s office reeking of desperation and stolen alcohol, rambling about Crutchie. The glee in Pulitzer’s snakelike eyes was terrifying. Pulitzer was a businessman, and he recognised a worthwhile trade when he saw one. 

Enough money for a one-way ticket for two to Santa Fe and Crutchie, given to Jack, no questions, no conditions. The price? Details of the second strike, every carefully knitted plan served on a golden platter to directly to Pulitzer and Snyder. The lives of every other Newsie placed into their hands to mould and manipulate like clay. 

The first strike had been a failure. Without backup, the Manhattan Newsies were crushed. Crutchie could pay dearly for their mistakes with his life. Who was to say Spot Conlon would keep his promises? And why had every underprivileged child in the whole damn city become Jack’s responsibility? 

All he wanted was Crutchie.

He took the deal. The strike had still taken place, but Jack was absent from their ranks. He couldn’t watch his brothers pay the price for his betrayal, but he certainly faced the consequences when the guys returned. Those who could still move beat Jack to a pulp and he didn’t make a single move to defend himself. Their blood was on his hands. He found himself banished from the Newsies, disgraced and vilified by the kids who looked up to him. The names hurt more than the beatings. 

But the most painful thing was the disappointment in their eyes. Especially Davey’s – that kid looked as if the entire world had crumbled around him. 

Incapable of sleep, Jack made a bold decision. He had nothing to lose any longer – the Newsies hated him, and Crutchie’s future was secure. He found himself walking that familiar route, the route he had made for years, delivering food and clothes until such activity became too dangerous with Snyder circling him like a vulture. 

He found himself at the gates of the Refuge. 

Scaling the old iron gates with ease, he sauntered across the courtyard, shrouding himself in the shadows to avoid detection. He had tried to visit Crutchie once before by climbing the fire escape, but he was so badly hurt that couldn’t make it to the window. This time, he was going inside. 

He clambered up the fire escape to the very top of the towering building, watching the New York landscape unfurl around him. But this was no time to appreciate the views. Heart pounding, he aligned himself carefully with the correct window and crouched in preparation. For a moment, his head span with anxiety. What if he was wrong? What if he fell? He pushed them all away. This was for Crutchie. 

Lowering himself with caution onto the narrow window ledge, he flicked the latch open with his foot after a few attempts. The latches were designed to remove the bars, but could only be accessed from outside. The bars swung open with an earsplitting creak. Jack froze, every muscle taut like a rabbit in the headlights, waiting for Snyder to come rushing out and seize him. 

Instead, a child’s face appeared at the window, mouth dropping open in awe at the sight of Jack’s legs dangling in front of him. He opened the window, and Jack slid through, closing it behind him for safety, in case any kids were in a fit enough state to make a daring escape attempt. 

Jack turned to the boy, who was still ogling him with amazement, as though he were a creature of legend. 

“I’m here to see Crutchie.” Jack said with authority, trying to prevent any emotion leaking into his voice. “Can you show me where he is?”

The boy nodded, turning and hobbling through the maze of bunk beds lining the grey room, Jack following behind. The boy gestured to the one in the very corner, pointing to the top bunk. Jack’s stomach sunk. Of course, Snyder had forced Crutchie climb with his bad leg. 

He approached warily, climbing up to the top bunk, biting back a gasp at the sight of Crutchie’s face.

If his flesh were a canvas, some careless fool had spilt paint all over it. Green, blue, and purple-hued bruises blossomed on the cool ivory of his skin, evidence of the abuse suffered. Every bone in his body jutted through his papery skin at obtuse angles. And yet, despite everything, a soft smile was forming on his lips, strange against the sickly pallor of his face. 

“Jack?” he whispered, his voice hoarse, and Jack felt his heart thud painfully in the hollow of his chest. If there was ever a sound that could describe love so fully, it was that; the sound of his name whispered so ardently like a prayer in the warm velvet of Crutchie’s voice. Crutchie forced himself into a seated position, mumbling curses under his breath as the movements caused him pain.

“Crutchie.” 

He could repress it no longer. Jack engulfed the boy in a hug, his arms encircling his tangling his fingers in his silkiness of his hair, as he’d been craving to for so long. For a brief but perfect moment, it seemed as if every splintered piece of his being clicked back into place. 

“Get your hands off me.”

Jack recoiled instinctively as though he’d been burnt by the venom lacing Crutchie’s words. Crutchie pulled away from the cage of his embrace as fast as his broken body would allow. Only then did Jack see the look in his eyes.

His soft, hazel eyes, usually so gentle and loving, filled with a poisonous mixture of hatred and rage, glaring at him in accusation. 

“Did I hurt you?” Jack whispered. 

Crutchie gave a mirthless laugh. “Something like that, Francis.”

Jack winced. Crutchie had never called him by his true name before – perhaps once or twice in jest – but never so callously as he was doing so now. 

“Crutchie, please…” Jack reached out a hand, confused by the accusation. Crutchie flinched unconsciously, tightening his fingers around the crutch at his side. A few months in the refuge had forced him to grow accustomed to hands that sought only to hurt, not to comfort. 

“I don’t want your pathetic excuses.” Crutchie said through gritted teeth. 

“My excuses?”

“You left me.” He said coldly, anger seething in his words. “You stood back and let these bastards get me.”

“Crutchie, I…”

“And you did nothing.” Crutchie spat. 

“I did!” Jack said desperately. “I made a deal with Pulitzer. He’s gonna make Snyder let you go.”

Crutchie was stunned into sudden silence. Jack stood there expectantly for a moment waiting for a reaction. Joy? Gratitude? Praise? Instead he was met with nothing. He gave a sigh. 

“I told him the plans for the Strike and we made a deal, Crutchie.” Jack explained, feeling the familiar stab of guilt in his stomach. “We’re gonna get you out of here, and I’m gonna take you to Santa Fe.” 

Crutchie, with surprising strength, hurled his crutch at Jack’s head. Jack narrowly avoided injury by ducking. His heart pounded in terror against his ribcage, as he turned to stare dumbstruck at Crutchie, bemused by his reaction. He fought the urge to retaliate. 

“Leave.” Crutchie said simply, eyes pricking with tears. “Just…leave.”

“But…”

“You betrayed them, Jack.” Crutchie said, shaking his head in disgust. “You’re a traitor!”

“I did it for you!”

“Well, you shouldn’t have!”

It was Jack’s turn to fall silent. He realised with a sense of horror that perhaps Crutchie wasn’t the Crutchie he used to know. Gazing upon him was like looking at a stranger. 

Or perhaps it was Jack who had changed in Crutchie’s absence, and somehow that was scarier. 

Crutchie groaned and buried his face in his hands. “Just go, Jack.”

“Crutchie, I…”

“Go.”

Gravely, Jack lowered himself onto the ground and picked up the fallen crutch. He propped it against Crutchie’s bunk the way he used to in the Lodging House, an action that made his heart ache with nostalgia, with longing. He wanted to pull Crutchie into his arms and never let him go. Instead, with a heavy sigh, Jack turned away, swallowing the lump building in his throat.

“See ya, kid.” 

He was gone within seconds, as though he’d never been present at all. Crutchie found himself wondering if it had truly happened, or whether it had all just been another nightmare. Either way, he was alone again, feeling as though he had been hacked open to expose his very heart, leaving him prone and bleeding in front of everybody. He pulled the covers over his head, as though it could block out the whispers around him.

Jack, meanwhile was haunted by the Refuge. When he had arrived, he had been confronted by hundreds of small, curious faces. He had scanned them quickly, wondering vaguely if he could find a face he recognised from his time there.

A thousand pairs of empty, sunken eyes had stared back. It was a room full of shadows, devoid of all humanity, just remnants of the children they once were.

And Crutchie was just one amongst their ranks.

Two boys cried that night, every old wound long buried reopened once again, until there were no mores tears to shed.

And that night, Jack made a plan.

That sleepless night, he decided, would be his last night of freedom.


	5. The Goodbyes

Standing before the Newsies the next morning, Jack felt like a criminal on trial, forced to stare into the eyes of his victims as he awaited the fall of the hammer to sentence him to death. It certainly felt like he was about to head for his execution but he had to remind himself – it was his own choice. He was doing it for Crutchie. And somehow, his own trepidation and fear didn’t seem to matter so much. 

But he had to say goodbye. 

As soon as he walked through the door, people rose to their feet in anger. Hateful eyes regarded him through an assortment of bruises and injury. He froze, holding his hands up in a surrender. 

“What do you want, Jack?” Race said with disdain. 

“I just gotta…I gotta talk to you, guys.” He stuttered back, barely daring to make eye contact.

“If you think you can make some sort of apology, save your breath.” 

“It’s something more than that.” Jack said. “It’s about Crutchie.”

Immediately, the atmosphere shifted. A murmur rippled through their ranks. Despite everything, everyone still missed Crutchie. His absence was obvious, like losing a tooth. The gap was a raw, painful reminder. Jack’s absence had been more like having a bad tooth removed – he was only a source of pain, in the end. 

“Someone go get Davey.” Race ordered. Specs withdrew from the room, glaring at Jack all the way. Jack’s heart was in his mouth. Anyone but Davey. He could face anyone but him. 

Within seconds however, Specs returned with Davey by his side. Jack couldn’t bear to look at him. Davey’s skin was pale and taut, with enormous shadows growing like violets under his tired eyes. 

“Jack.” He said softly, his words pained. “I think you should just go.”

“I need to talk to you.” Jack begged. Davey sighed. “Please, Davey.” 

Davey was conflicted. Every one of the Newsies hated Jack at that moment. He had been a corrupt leader - inspiring them to strike and leading them all the way there just to throw them to the wolves. 

But Davey couldn't resist Jack. He never could. Especially when he looked at him like that, with those soft, begging eyes. That sensitive look was a far cry from the tough persona Jack usually adopted, and it made Davey weak at the knees. That was the only reason he joined Jack as a selling partner, or joined the damn strike in the first place. 

“Fine.” Davey said, cursing himself. “Thirty seconds.”

“I know I betrayed you all.” Jack said, voice wavering. “And I’m sorry.” 

He tried to ignore the shouts and jeers that erupted at that moment, waiting for Davey to call silence. 

“But Crutchie wouldn’t accept the deal.”

“Damn right.” Race snorted, pointing his cigar accusingly at Jack. “Cause’ you’re a traitor.”

Again, people shouted agreement, until chastised by Davey. 

“Continue.” Davey said with authority. It was obvious he had taken over Jack’s role in the Newsies, a notion that made Jack’s chest constrict with pain.

“I gave Pulitzer his money back, and I’m gonna take Crutchie’s place instead.” 

At that moment, stunned silence fell. 

“What are you talking about?” Davey said, his voice unusually strained, rising a few octaves higher than usual. 

“I’m going directly to Snyder, and I’ll hand myself in as long as he lets Crutchie go.” Jack sighed. “But you guys gotta take care of him for me, alright? Make sure he’s safe. And happy.” His voice began to crack, tears forming in his eyes. “That’s all, okay?”

“Jack…” Davey began, his tone softening. His eyes were agonising to look into.

“I know what you all think of me.” Jack said harshly through tears. “And I’m sorry.” He turned to Davey. “Truly.”

Then he was gone, striding down the road with determination, feeling his tears burn like acid on his cheeks. The resentment in the Newsies’ eyes, in Davey’s eyes especially, had been almost too hard to bear. He hoped that one day, maybe they could forgive him, even if he wasn’t around to see it. He wiped them away brusquely, beginning his final journey, refusing to look back. 

To the Refuge.


	6. The Rescue

Upon seeing Jack Kelly, Snyder came close to falling out of his chair with astonishment. The elusive Jack Kelly – after years of chasing him through the streets of New York city – he had finally emerged, standing before him in the very flesh. 

“Jack Kelly.” Snyder hissed, baring his teeth in a sinister grin. “It’s been a while.”

“I’m here strictly for business.” Jack said coolly. “A trade.”

Snyder glared at him with beady eyes. “I’m listening.”

“You have a boy here, by the name of Crutchie. You know him?”

Snyder barked a sadistic laugh. “Certainly.” 

Jack winced at the noise, only imagining what horrors Snyder could have inflicted on him. 

“I’d like you to let him go. Dismiss his sentence.”

“And why would I do that?” 

“Because I’ll take his place.” 

Snyder leaned back in his seat, regarding Jack with interest. His tongue slithered between his lips, reminiscent of a reptile. 

“Why?” Snyder said, leaning forward. “You, Jack Kelly, are selfish. Why would you want to save someone as pathetic as this boy?”

“That doesn’t matter.” Jack said, pressing his eyes closed as he condemned himself. “Do we have a deal?”

Snyder contemplated for a moment, before grinning. “Deal.”

Within seconds, he was clamping a pair of handcuffs around Jack’s wrists, as though he would attempt an escape after such a plea. Jack flinched at the familiar icy bite of the metal on his skin.

He was marched up countless steps, a journey that Crutchie no doubt had to complete even with his bad leg. Jack’s heart ached for him. 

He was tossed carelessly into a small, grey cell, without anything. He recognised it. Solitary confinement – one of Snyder’s favourite ways to break people. Kids went crazy in there, isolated from the world outside. 

His handcuffs were torn off him, and the door slammed shut. For a few minutes Jack was alone in the dark, until it swung open again. He tensed, his body braced in preparation for a punch or a kick. 

“Jack, are you crazy?”

He relaxed, warmth flooding his body. Snyder pushed a small figure into the room with him. Crutchie. Jack gazed upwards in adoration, unable to prevent himself from smiling.

“What are you doing?” Crutchie asked, leaning heavily on his crutch. “I told you to go.”

“After what you said, I went back to the guys.” Jack struggled to rise to his feet, leaning on the wall for support. “I’m taking your place. Snyder’s gonna let you go.”

That’s when Snyder laughed. “Change of plan, boys.” 

Jack turned, aghast. “We had a deal.”

“I’ve been searching for you for ages, Kelly.” Snyder said. “You think I’d let the opportunity to capture you slip away?”

And with that, the door slammed shut on them, leaving them both trapped in the darkness.

“Jack.” Crutchie said softly. “You shouldn’ta come back.” 

“But I wanted to save you.”

“Now you’re just stuck here too.”

"I don't care."

With tremoring, hesitant fingers, Jack reached out for Crutchie, brushing them over his cheek. To his delight, Crutchie didn’t pull away, but instinctively leaned into the touch with a sigh, only recoiling as Jack’s fingers ran over one of his bruises. Jack pulled his hand away as though he’d been scalded, as Crutchie gave a sigh. 

“I’m sorry.” Jack said.

“S’okay.” Crutchie said with detachment, angling himself away from him.

“Not for that.” Jack whispered. “For everything. For leaving you. For betraying the other guys. I’ve done everything all wrong.”

“Whatever, Jack.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“It’s too late to change anything now.”

“I know.” Jack groaned. “But that doesn’t make it okay.”

For a moment they stood in silence. Crutchie gazed up at Jack, biting his lip in consideration. Then without warning, he reached up and wrapped his arms around Jack’s neck, burying his face in his shoulder. His crutch clattered to the floor, so Jack folded his arms around him with enough strength to support his weight, mindful of not hurting him any further. 

“Why did you leave me, Jack?” Crutchie mumbled. 

“I don’t know.” Jack admitted. “But I wish to God I didn’t. I missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too.”

“It’s okay.” Jack said with a watery smile. “We’re together now, aren’t we?”

That was when the alarm bells started ringing.

They froze in fear, hearing shouts out in the courtyard, and in the corridor outside. All they could hear was a cacophony of yells and the pounding of footsteps. They broke apart, Jack instinctively clasping Crutchie’s hand in his own. Crutchie ran his thumb swiftly over Jack’s knuckles for comfort.

That’s when they heard the shouts in the distance. “Jack?” “Crutchie?”

“Down here!” Jack yelled at the top of his lungs, mumbling an apology to Crutchie as he covered his ears with a frown. 

A few long minutes later, they heard the call again, this time far nearer. Hope rose in Jack’s chest as he recognised the voice. It was Race. 

“In here!” Jack cried, pounding on the door. 

“Spot, you got the keys?” 

A momentary fumbling and crashing sound occurred outside the cell, followed by a few muttered expletives. Then, it swung open. Light spilled into the room, blinding the two boys.

Race stood in front of them, grinning ear to ear, hand-in-hand with Spot Conlon. 

“What are you guys doing here?” Jack said incredulously. 

“Davey got everyone back together and we followed you here.” Race explained. “Brooklyn and Queens are up there causing a distraction, and we came down to find you.” 

"Davey did that?” Crutchie said in disbelief. 

“The boy’s a genius.” Race said with admiration. 

“Can we save this for later?” Spot interjected. “We got places to be.”

“Up the stairs, door to your left.” Race said. “See ya out there.”

“Wait.” Jack said, eying the boys’ intertwined hands. “What’s all this about?”

“I could ask you the same.” Race said pointedly, with a wink.

With that, Race and Spot sprinted up the stairs and vanished. Jack turned to Crutchie, euphoric, only to be puzzled by the sad smile on his face.

“You go, Jack.” He said softly. “I can’t run. I’ll just slow you down.”

“No chance.” Jack insisted. “You’re coming with me.”

“But…”

“I’m sorry for this.” Jack said. “You ain’t gonna like it.”

And with that, giving Crutchie no time to protest, he hooked his under him and lifted him, carrying him bridal-style out of the door. 

“Jesus, Jack.” Crutchie hissed, clinging onto Jack’s neck for dear life. “I’m too heavy.”

“You’re not heavy.” Jack huffed with exertion. “You’re light as a feather.” 

“But…”

“Trust me.” Jack said, flinching at the irony. He was surely the least trustworthy person alive. He had run to save himself and left Crutchie to his fate. Betrayed the Newsies in pursuit of Santa Fe. 

But Crutchie did trust him. After everything they'd been through, he had to.

Jack began sprinting up the stairs at breakneck speed, holding tight to Crutchie who couldn’t tear his eyes away from Jack’s. After a few flights, they could see the open door, sunlight trickling through like a promise. Jack put Crutchie on the ground for a second, leaning heavily on the wall to catch his breath. 

At that moment, out in the courtyard, they heard a ripple of gunshots, followed by angry shouts. Crutchie gasped. Jack froze at the sound, uncertain. 

“Jack?” Crutchie whispered. “What do we do?”

“We just gotta run.” Jack stuttered, looking helplessly up at Crutchie, who gave a gulp. 

“I’m scared.” 

“Me too.” Said Jack. “But we got each other.”

“What if we don’t make it, Jack?” Crutchie sighed. “What if they chuck us back in here…or…” he swallowed. 

“Don’t think like that.” Jack said. 

He grabbed Crutchie’s chin, pulling his face up to look at him. Both their eyes were glazed with tears.

“Listen.” Jack said with determination. “We’re getting out of here. And when we do, I’m gonna take you to Santa Fe. We’re gonna start again, okay?”

Crutchie nodded. “Okay.” he whispered, his eyes fluttering shut. Jack pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. 

Suddenly, from the stairwell below, came a shout. “Kelly!” 

It was Snyder.

Without another moment’s hesitation, Jack lifted Crutchie off his feet and barrelled through the door. In the distance, he could see the crowd of Newsies, cheering as he ran. He focused on Crutchie’s soft eyes, gazing trustingly at him as he ran. 

Ran through the gunfire, ran away from the guards sprinting after him, ran towards his imperfect family. 

And he kept on running, running into the unknown, towards a bright and glorious future he knew he and Crutchie would have together.


	7. Epilogue - Santa Fe.

Santa Fe. After a lifetime of desperate dreams, Jack had finally escaped the clutches of New York. Now, Santa Fe unfurled at his feet like the Promised Land; a kaleidoscopic maze of streets, brimming with endless possibility, simply begging to be explored. His hollow dreams had not done the city justice. It was truly beautiful. 

New York had aged Jack. The grim reality of a life on the streets had burdened his bones with fatigue beyond his years. Despite the jocular façade he had maintained for the sake of the guys, who looked up to him like a father, Jack was tired of waking each morning to the concrete walls that caged him in the Big Apple. 

Now all he could see was green, a green so vibrant that he wouldn’t have thought it possible, greener than the painted forests on Medda’s backdrops. And he knew come night, the heavenly cornflower sky rolling above him would become a blanket of stars, more stars than he would ever have time to count. It was just like he had always dreamt.   
Except, one difference. In his dreams, he was alone, severed from his family, left with nothing but his guilt at abandoning those who needed him.

This time, he had Crutchie. And, despite the price Jack had had to pay to get here, it was entirely worth it.

He smiled down at the shorter boy, who was gazing around in awe, each angular contour of his face golden in the dappled rays of the sun spearing warmly through the trees. God, he was even more beautiful than the scenery. Before Jack even knew what he was doing, he was pressing a gentle kiss to Crutchie’s lips, marvelling at how soft they were against his own chapped lips. And, to his delight, Crutchie kissed back without hesitation, his arms snaking around Jack’s neck. After a few seconds, they broke apart, Jack resting his forehead against Crutchie’s.

“Ready?” he asked.

Crutchie nodded, feeling as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, drifting away on the breeze. He found himself entranced by Jack’s dark green eyes, so perfectly matching the palette of Santa Fe, as though a piece of the countryside had formed a part of him so thoroughly the entire time. 

“Ready.”

And hand in hand, they walked into the golden light, content at last.

. . .

It was a disgraceful concept, one that should never have even crossed his mind, yet Davey couldn’t help but think that Crutchie and Jack looked so blissfully content in death. 

The Newsies had always considered Jack their leader: he was their elder after all, with boundless expertise and courage. They had put him up on a pedestal, followed his lead without objection. But Jack’s passion and strong morals often rendered him blind. It was he who had dragged them all into this mess. Abandoned them. Sold them to Pulitzer.   
Bastard. Perhaps it was what he deserved.

However, not one among their ranks could bring themselves to say such hateful things. Jack and Crutchie were their brothers, after all, their brothers lying dead and bleeding in the middle of the street. And brothers defended one another. 

For a few fleeting seconds, there was nothing but noise, as if every person in New York had taken leave of their senses, thrown their heads back, and screamed at the top of their lungs. The Newsies had united once again under a common goal – to rescue Jack and Crutchie. Even Brooklyn had agreed. They had all fought the guards, broke through the gates, and entered the Refuge.

And suddenly there was Jack and Crutchie, running across the courtyard with Snyder at their heels. But Jack was faster. And they were getting closer, and closer, and…  
Then came the gunshots. Some fool, one of Snyder’s hired help, had recklessly let fly with a pistol to prevent their escape. 

And unfortunately, he had had perfect aim. 

They had been so close, within footsteps of freedom. Now, they lay motionless on the ground. Perhaps one could almost believe they were sleeping as they did on the rooftop at night, if it were not for the crimson roses of blood blooming through their shirts. They were wrapped lovingly in each other’s arms, forehead-to-forehead, legs intertwined, the ghostly remnants of his last smile still playing on Crutchie’s lips. Somehow it seemed fitting for the two, to die in one another’s arms. Inseparable at last. 

Davey couldn’t help but feel a pang in his chest, as though the broken shards of his heart were pressing through his skin. Amongst his grief and rage, there was also a sickening wave of jealousy that it was not he who lay in Jack’s arms. Since the very moment he met Jack, he had forgotten how to exist without him. It seemed that Jack held the keys to the entire world, at least the only world that Davey wanted to live in. And now Jack was gone, his last moments in Crutchie’s arms instead of his, his ears deaf to the words Davey could never now confess. 

Jack and Crutchie. There they lay. Just two broken boys, not men. Just two lives stolen far too young, two children who had seen far too much and two coffins that were far too small. 

They were helpless to do anything but watch as their bodies were carted away, hidden from the prying eyes of the public. It would be a scandal if anyone found out. Despite everything, the Newsies held each other in silent grief, lowering their heads solemnly, a final salute to their fallen brothers. 

“They’re in a better place now.” Davey found himself saying, his voice strained in his effort not to cry. He supposed he was truly the leader of the Newsies now, shoes that he doubted he could ever fill. Nonetheless, he felt it was his responsibility to provide some words of comfort. Though he had cast off much of his religion after what he had witnessed on New York’s streets, he had heard stories about Paradise and the afterlife, a place of eternal peace and happiness where worldly strife could not trouble them.

And, he thought, if such a place truly existed, they deserved nothing less.


	8. Santa Fe - The Rewrite (1)

I decided (for some regrettable reason) to rewrite the lyrics of Santa Fe to match the plot of this.

So Jack would sing this after his visit to Crutchie in the Refuge, during his sleepless night where he decides to take Crutchie's place at the Refuge instead before visiting the Newsies the next morning.

(in the chapter: Sleepless and Starless)

So yeah. Enjoy I guess? _(ialreadyregretthis_ )

 

 

There he lies, there he stays

Somewhere I can’t ever find him

I can’t tell him all the things I have to say

That I’ll take him to a city

Where he’ll never be afraid

We’ll get on a train that's bound for Santa Fe

 

But he’s gone

And he’s done

So I’m running, and I’m hiding

While he’s lying there and dying far away

In a place so cold and bitter, where the walls are old and grey

If dreams came true

I’d take you

To Santa Fe

 

Where does it say you just give up and die here?

Where does it say your story’s gotta end?

Why won’t you take the help you're given?

Shun me and spend your whole life livin'

Trapped where there ain't no future

Even at just fifteen

Beat and attacked for someone else's sake

All this pain don't seem to suit you

Let me rewrite the scene

Erase all my mistakes and the heartbreaks in between

 

Santa Fe

I give up.

I won't spend my whole life dreamin'

Though I know that's all I’ve been inclined to do

I keep hurting all my brothers

So I've gotta start brand new

Don’t need space or fresh air

All I want is for him to be there

I’ll take his place.

I don’t care.

 

Forgive me is all I'm askin'

And let me bring you home.

Cause you’re dead if I can't save your life today

You’re all I have if I ain't got

Santa Fe


End file.
